


Over Vale and Under Hill

by givemeunicorns



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thorin Lives, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:53:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givemeunicorns/pseuds/givemeunicorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hello Master Baggins,” Thorin said, in a voice that was so warm and alive that it made Bilbo's heart ache a new. </p><p>“You're dead,” was all the hobbit could muster after a long moment, “You were going to the halls of father's, you said so yourself. Beorn took you away.”</p><p>Thorin gave a small, weary smile behind his dark beard, stepped a little closer.</p><p>“They would not have me, not yet.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Vale and Under Hill

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my loverly Phoenixtalon, who just really REALLY wanted some Thilbo fluff/smut. So I provided. This was written mostly from my memory of the book, but there are elements of the movies in here too, so you know. Unbeated, so feel free to let me know of any mistakes you see. Also forgive the lack of indention. Ao3 took them away when I pasted it. This is my first Tolkien verse fic so ya, bear with me. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters here in and this is just for my own personal enjoyment.

 Bilbo Baggins was a quieter sort of Hobbit these days, for the short time he'd been back in the Shire. Though he supposed the dead were supposed to be quiet and dead is what he'd been to the Shire folk, until he'd showed up on his own front door. He supposed he still was to many. He was going to have to buy back a good deal of his furniture, his dishes, his clothes. He wasn't even going to bother with the silver. The Sackville-Bagginses had always been a stingy sort and they were particularly mad at him now, turning up alive when they just gotten their hands on such a cozy new home as BagEnd. He supposed he should be thankful he'd shown back up before they could get their paws on his post bed or his mother's glory box.

Still, it wasn't the loss of the chairs or the rugs or the spoons that left Bilbo feeling hollowed out. He had gold enough now to buy more and time enough to go searching. There was a Mithril shirt hidden away among his things and an blade of Elvish make hanging over his mantel. No, he certianly had enough things. His reputation however, was gone, and most respectable hobbits didn't want to be heard of hanging around with an adventuresome Tookish sort(unless there was party involved). There was a solace in knowing that he was still counted as elf friend, still occupied a place in the mind of a wizard and handful of dwarves, but it wasn't quite enough to fill the gap.

He spent his days smoking his pipe and writing silly poems, but the nights were longer. Night haunted by dreams that were all together too pleasant. The laughter of the heirs of Durin, young and proud and strong, lost to the halls of their fathers, until the earth was began a new. The starlight eyes of the beautiful elvish captain, brave and bold a creature as Bilbo had ever seen. She and Kili had been quiet a match. A shame, for they had so loved each other and their love could have changed so much. It would have been a difficult sort of life, but if their had even been a pair strong enough for the task, it would have been them. Now they were forever separated, one to the iron halls and the other across the seas. But mostly, it was dark eyes that haunted him, a slow, quiet smile behind a darker beard. Nightmares of smoke and death could not compare to the ache those eyes left him with, in waking.

He settled at his one remaining chair, cup of tea between his chilled hands. He knew why those eyes cut him so deeply, and though he'd never said the words, he thought perhaps Gandalf did too. He was not the hobbit he'd been when he'd left his house under the hill, all those months ago. But he was still not so brave a hobbit as he sometimes wished he'd been. He'd faced horses, long roads, rain storms, trolls, orcs, the long dark, goblins, elves, Gollums, men, and dragons. But he'd never really faced his heart. No, he'd lost the one thing in the world all his gold could not afford him, that his shiny ring could not sooth the loss of.

He touched cold fingers to his lips, closed his eyes, and for a moment he would almost feel him. All gruff and growling, stoic, but tender in his own way, when the mood took him. The few short embraces they'd shared should not have dug so deeply at him. He'd done far more as wily young hobbit. In his latter 'tween years, he'd been quiet known for luring old Took's maids and farm lads away form their work, often for a bit more than kissing. A few innocent touches of of the dwarfs lips and hands seemed childish in comparison. He'd been dying the last time Bilbo had seen him, ready to join his nephews. Bilbo had wanted to kiss him then, but hadn't. He wasn't sure why. Then Beorn had come and carried the body of their king away.

He sighed. He knew the time would pass and the wound would heal, as wounds were oft to do. He'd always planned on being a bachelor anyway, he liked the quietness of being alone. It had only been scant months since he'd returned here, he reminded himself, and change took a bit of time, especially when he'd been doing so much of that recently.

“Best go to sleep, Bilbo,” he sighed to himself, “It'll be better in the morning. It always is.”

He finished his tea in the quiet, rinsed the cup and set it aside to dry. He smiled to himself, fingering the gold ring around the edge. He could almost hear them singing again, to the tempo of clanking dishes and stomping boots on the hard wood.

“Blunt the knives, bend the forks,” he chuckled quietly to himself, a sad edge to his voice, “Smash the bottles and burn the corks.”

He shook his head and turned away.

“Well it was an awfully big adventure, while it lasted,” he muttered, pulling his patchwork hose coat a little tighter round himself. Funny, he'd thought it was considerably smaller the last time he'd worn it.

He was half way to his room, when he heard it.

He stopped in his tracks. It seemed a life time ago since he'd last heard that noise.

“The door bell,” he muttered, “Who on earth could it be, at this time of night no less?”

He padded back to the front door, opening it a crack. He half expected the bent, grey wizard to be standing there, declaring Bilbo had had quite enough quiet.

What Bilbo did not expect, however, was a ghost.

He startled, but found he couldn't make himself shut the door. Would it have helped? Some small part of his mind wondered, or could ghosts simply go through doors? Because a ghost was all that it could be, standing on his step in a crisp autumn night. The ghost of a king.

“Hello Master Baggins,” Thorin's ghost said, in a voice that was so warm and alive that it made Bilbo's heart ache a new.

“You're dead,” was all the hobbit could muster after a long moment, “You were going to the halls of father's, you said so yourself. Beorn took you away.”

Thorin gave a small, weary smile behind his dark beard, stepped a little closer.

“They would not have me, not yet.”

The hobbit stood for a moment, stunned to silence. It was The King Under the Mountain who spoke first.

“May I come in?”

Bilbo shook himself, offered a nervous laugh.

“Oh yes, how rude of me. Of course, of course, come in!”

The hobbit turned a a slow circle in his entry way as he closed the door. What did one do when a dead love showed up at ones' door in the middle of the night? Offer them a pipe and a seat? And then what? His eyes settled on the kitchen. Yes, that seemed safe. One simply couldn't go wrong with tea and cakes he supposed.

“Would-would like some umm...” he muttered, heading back for the kitchen, when a strong hand caught his arm, pulled him back, tugged him closer.

In the close, dim light Bilbo could see now how much Thorin had changed. He was thinner of face and limb, with the pallor of someone who'd been long ill. But there was a peacefulness in his face now too, a sort of relief. His wide hands settled on Bilbo's shoulders, smoothed gently down his arms, like he was made of smoke or something as easily swept away. The touched the hobbits hands, the front of his nightshirt, his sleep mussed curls, dark eyes not quite sure where to fix. Bilbo took a sharp breath, and even under the smell of hard travel on long roads, there was the scent he'd always associated with Thorin, the perfume of hard metal and good earth.

“I'm sorry Bilbo.”

Bilbo couldn't help his smile, his relived sigh, couldn't help leaning into a touch that, an hour ago, he'd been sure he'd never feel again. Thorin's hands were rough and calloused, but warm and alive against his skin, palm resting against the back of the hobbit's neck.

“You should be. You've made me quite the talk around here. I used to be respectable you know. Never went on any adventures or did anything unepected,” the hobbit mumbled, nervously, but smiling all the same, not able to stop his own fingers from reaching for the thick furs, the rough spun cloth, the long hair, the metal ornaments, just to be sure the dwarf before him was not, in fact a ghost. Or worse, a dream.

He didn't expect the warm brush of lips against his, but he leaned into it all the same. If this journey had taught him one thing it was that the unexpected was not always to be feared. This was not a simply kiss, it was fierce and needing, seeking, asking, answering. He let his hands roam and Thorin did the same, under the edges of the dwarf's great coat, beneath the hobbit's house robe, reacquainting themselves with the parts of one another that had only begun to explore before their parting. It had always struck Bilbo as strange, how sweet Thorin's lips tasted, a stark contrase to the roughness of his beard against the hobbit's otherwise smooth skin, the hardness of the muscles under hands. Even after all this time, Thorin Oakenshield was mystery to him. No, not a mystery; a riddle. One he thought he might quite like solving.

It was the dwarf who pulled away first, flush showing even through his dark hair, smiling and breathless. There was something fierce and longing in his steel grey eyes, and it work a fire in Bilbo's belly, the likes of which he hadn't felt in many long years.

There where a thousand questions the hobbit wanted to ask him, Baggin's part of him needing an explanation for all this excitement. How had Thorin survived? Why had no one sent him word? What would happen now? But the Tookish part of him said to hell with answers, those could be had tomorrow. Now was the time for action, to make reality of all the blushing dreams he'd been too shy and afraid to make reality before, dreams he'd regretted never acting on, when he'd thought the line of Durin forever sundered.

“Stay the night,” he ventured, wrapping an arm around the dwarf's waist.

Thorin nodded and sighed in a way that was almost relived.

“If you've a place for me, Master Baggins. I wouldn't be so rude as to intrude into your house a second time,” the Dwarf replied, fingering the frayed edge of Bilbo's house coat.

“They'll always be room for you here,” the Hobbit sighed, felling butterflies come alive in his stomach. A pleasant surprise. He thought they'd died out years ago.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “When you're gone from the Shire so long as I was, folk start thinking you're dead. And what need to the dead have of comfortable things? They left me only one bed for the time being. One I'd happily share...if you don't mind?”

Thorin's head titled to the side and he watched Bilbo with an expression that was all at once confused and disbelieving. His smile widened.

“With your consent, Master Baggins, I would be flattered.”

Bilbo blushed to the tips of his ears, clearing his throat as he pulled back a bit, settling his hand into Thorin's.

“Only if you'll stop calling me Mister Baggins.”

Thorin brought the hobbit's hand, once so smooth and soft, to his lips and kissed the calloused fingers.

“As you wish, Bilbo.”

With a quivering in his stomach and a building heat in his chest, Bilbo's fingers tightened around the dwarves, and he pulled him gently down the hall. Thorin followed, pressing close to Bilbo's back, free hand settling on the smaller being's hip, nosing at the back of his neck in a way that made Bilbo feel giddy as a school lad again.

“Easy ,” he chuckled, fumbling for the door, “What are you about back there?”

“I just want to kiss you again,” Throin rumbled against the crock of Bilbo's neck, warming him to his core.

Bilbo sighed, let his head fall back, let the Dwarrow king trace the line of his pulse with his lips.

“I think I'd rather like that,” he relented, finding both the dwarf's arms circling his middle, holding him tight.

He turned in the dwarf king's arms, tracing the hard line of Thorin's jaw beneath his great beard, pulled him close and kissed him firmly. Thorin opened to him, letting the hobbit taste the sweetness of smoke and herb. Bilbo thought, perhaps, this must be what hope tasted like, if it had flavor at all. Thorin didn't give him much time to contemplate though, broad hands roving up his back, beneath his dressing gown, causing an all together different curiosity to grab hold of him. He kept up with his kissing, nipping Thorin's lower lip, pulling back just the slightest bit, pressing in again just as Thorin made to follow him. Playful, teasing. He shrugged out of his house robe, before he pushed at Thorin's great coat. The dwarf allowed himself to be divested of it, tossing it over the fireside chair without looking. Bilbo's hands found their way to the front of his tunic, but lingered for a long moment. Thorin felt smaller than he had before, thinner. A stark reminder how close he'd treaded to death.

“What's wrong,” Thorin asked against his cheek, almost startling Bilbo. He hadn't realized he'd stopped.

Still the hobbit graced him with a smile.

“Just wondering why we didn't do this sooner. How did I ever keep my hands off you properly?'

Thorin nodded, not quite believing the words, but letting them be all the same.

“I suppose we'll have to make up for such folly, eh?”

“Indeed,” Bilbo chuckled, leaning into to nip the underside of Thorin's chin, fingers working deftly at the toggles of his tunic.

Thorin did the same in return, making swift work of Bilbo's night shirt, before moving to help Bilbo with his many layers of vests and shirts. Bilbo felt his heart pick up again as the clothe crumpled to the floor. Not that he hadn't seen Thorin's broad chest unclothed before, but this was wholly different. Not a simple stream bath or the like. He ran his hands across it with a sudden rush of possessiveness, reveling in the feel of strong muscle under coarse, dark hair. He counted the old scars, familiar patches of fairer skin, but also brought the new ones into his count, the raw pink color of still healing flesh.

Thorin took his hands away and it shook him, suddenly sure he'd done something wrong. But Thorin's expression was pleasant, if heated. He nodded towards Bilbo's bed.

“Not that I mind those hands on me, but I sooner like to get those britches off you,” he rumbled, in a voice that sent Bilbo's blood rushing south.

Bilbo nodded, tripping backwards and pulling the bigger body with him. Thorin didn't seem to mind, falling on Bilbo with sharp kisses along his shoulders and collars, the king's braids and thick main tickling Bilbo's chest as he worked. He laughed, truly and openly for the first time in many weeks, fingers tangling in the black and grey tresses.

“Am I so amusing to you, my hobbit?' Thorin chuckled against his skin.

“I'm just happy is all,” Bilbo replied.

Thorin lifted his head then, and gave Bilbo a grin that bordered on wolfish.

“I can think of some ways to make you far happier,” he rumbled, sliding to his knees and Bilbo's breath caught as he watched the dwarf go.

“Can you now,” he replied, a little breathless, hand moving to the laces of his britches.

Thorin chuckled, trailing a long line of kisses down the hobbit's belly, over the curve of his hips, leaving him alone to free himself. Suddenly, he couldn't get his trousers of fast enough, not with those dark, smiling eyes watching him from between his legs.

“You could be helpful,” he huffed, trying to wiggle out of his pants and small clothes all at once.

Thorin sat back on his heels, tugging at the fabric, aiding Bilbo's failing attempts.

“As my burglar commands.”

The hobbit couldn't help the sigh of relief that left him, his half hard sex finally freed from the confines of the fabric. Still, a blush crept up on his cheeks again, having Thorin so close to him there. Rough hands smoothed down Bilbo's thighs and he shivered.

“May I,” the dwarf asked, and there was a thick, husky edge to his voice that had not been there before.

“I wish you would,” Bilbo said, reaching for the Dwarf's hand, dragging it back up his chest. One calloused thumb rubbed over his nipple, pert in the coolness of the room and he hummed contentedly.

The other drifted between Bilbo's legs palming his half flagged erection, electing a soft huff from the hobbit. It had been many years since anyone but himself had done this, and never anyone with such rough hands. He found he rather like the feel of them on his skin. Familiar lips pressed hard, biting kisses to the juncture of his hips, the inside of his thighs while Thorin worked. Bilbo sighed again eyes slipping shut to simply enjoy. Thorin worked him with an experienced hand but still there was something it was lacking, as if the elder was holding back.

“It won't break,” Bilbo teased, reaching down to finger one of the dark braids.

Thorin looked up then, questioning.

“You sure?”

“I'd hope so,” the hobbit chuckled.

“Apologies. You're just so different from a dwarf.”

Bilbo pushed up on his elbow's smile fading.

“Am I?” he asked, tentatively, “Is it...off putting?”

Thorin looked confused for a long moment, before he shook his head, moving up Bilbo's body, spreading out across him, solid and warm and alive.

“Not in the least. Different yes, but in a way most pleasing. I just...sometimes I'm not sure what to do with you. As Gandalf says, you could know everything there is to know about hobbits, in a day and yet after a hundred years, they'll still surprise you.”

Bilbo slide a hand down the dwarf's broad chest, following the track of black hair down his belly, dipping beneath the hem of his trousers.

“Let me surprise you then, and trust me to tell if you're too rough, agreed?”

Throin growled, pressing a hard kiss against the curve of Bilbo's shoulder.

“As you wish.”

“Good, now off with those blasted boots!”

Together they divested the dwarf of his shoes, his britches, and his small clothes, among kisses and roaming hands that made it all too difficult. They landed on the bed in a tumble, hands in one another's hair, kissing any bit of flesh they could reach with their mouths. Bilbo had always had an intense fascination with the dark ink on Thorin's skin, tattooing being something all but unheard of among hobbits. He traced the bold lines with his lips and tongue, revealed in the way Thorin's breath picked up at the motion. Thick arms wrapped tight around his torso again, pulling him firmly into Thorin's lap. Thorin's cock stood hard and proud from a bed of black curls, skin dark and rudy compared to Bilbo's own. The hobbit, shifted, pressing them together, delighted at the soft hiss it pulled from the dwarf. Slowly, the hobbit canted his hips, shifted in slow circles, building up the sweet, pleasurable friction he'd always so enjoyed. Thorin's hand reached around him, grabbing tight to his rea,r splayed wide in the small of his back, pulling him closer.

“You'll drive me mad with this slow torture,” he growled.

“I'm not slow,” Bilbo chied him, “I'm just taking my sweet time. We hobbits don't like to rush things that give us pleasure.”

“And things that don't?”

“Oh we can't get rid of them fast enough!”

Thorin laughed, a heart sound that shook them both. Still Bilbo relented, rocking his hips with a little more fervor, leaning in to swallow the grunt of pleasure before it could even escape Thorin's lips. The hot press of their bodies had worked it wickedness on Bilbo was well, now hard to leaking between his own thighs. He wouldn't last long tonight, it had been to long. He wondered, in retrospect, how he'd never missed this. Then again, it wasn't this he missed so much as the one he was doing it with. It had been many many years since he'd felt this kind of warmth in his heart, the kind that crept right into his soul.

He leaned back abruptly, back against the pillows, pulling Thorin with him.

“I want to taste you,” Bilbo smiled, and Thorin quirked a brow at him.

Bilbo simply gave him a grin and a gentle push. Thorin rolled without hesitation, letting the hobbit crawl his way down the length of the larger body, leaving a trail of hard, bitting kisses in his wake, the same way Thorin had. Spread out on his back, hands resting behind his head, and looking down at Bilbo in something close to wonderment, Bilbo felt the king shiver under the touch and his own cock twitched in response. He reached out, taking Thorin's heavy, flushed sex in his hands working it in sure strokes as he lapped lightly at the sharp jut of Thorin's hip bones. The dwarf huffed, fingers curling into a fist on his chest. Mesmerized, Bilbo moved lower, not letting his eyes leave the dwarf's face, even as his tongue darted out, lapped a wet circle over the head of Thorin's cock. He shutter, lip caught between his teeth and Bilbo smiled wickedly. He forgotten how good it felt, having this kind of power. Slowly, he wrapped his lips around the head of the dwarf's length, sucking him carefully. Thorin groaned his name then, loud and long and unabashed and it spurned a newfound confidence in Bilbo. He took his time, working the hot flesh with his lips, with his mouth, little by little, while his hands explored. He idled his way across the broad thighs and hips, reaching to fondle Thorin's sack, which earned him a heady groan from above. He grew braver still, across the firm muscles of the Dwarf's rear, trailing between the globes of flesh, tracing the pucker of flesh hidden there.Above him, Thorin growled soft encouragements that made Bilbo's blood sing, made his own sex throb almost painfully between his thighs. He reached a hand down to stroke himself as Thorin's rod hit the back of his throat. Fingers reached for his hair, clutched at it, then stroking it, and Bilbo's own fingers found purchase of Thorin's hips, as he pulled back. He didn't get the chance to swallow again, before Thorin was catching his chin, pulling him upward, kissing him, sharply, madly. There was a wild sort of desperation in it that made Bilbo firmly reconsider taking his time with these sorts of things. Particularly now that their bodies were pressed so close.

He reached across Thorin into his nightstand, searching blindly for a bottle of salve he used on his hand in the dry winter. Thorin offered a knowing smile but set the jar aside.

“Now who's the impatient one,” he teased, catching the lobe of Bilbo's ear between his teeth, nipping lightly as a hand slide between them, “This for you, or for me?”

Biblo caught his lip between his teeth, arched into the touch.

“Didn't think you'd be opposed,” he huffed, “And it's for me, for now. I want to know what it is to have dwarf inside me.”

Thorin chortled, nose at the underside of Bilbo's chin.

“I want to taste you first,” he murmured and Bilbo couldn't help the whine that escaped him.

Bilbo let him self be pushed, non to gently, back into the softness of his pillows, thighs spreading to allow Thorin more room between them. He kept his hand on the dwarf, sketching the tattoos and hand lines of muscle with his fingers, tugging lightly at the beaded braids, stroking over the king's budded nipples. Thorin pressed an open mouthed kiss to his pulse and Bilbo happily let his head drop back. The dwarf's body was hot as furnace against him, his mouth pulling on all Bilbo's focus as it traveled down the hobbit's body. He hummed happily as Throin nipped and sucked bruises into his skin, licked soothingly at the reddened flesh before moving lower. By the time he settled on his belly, between the hobbit's open thigh, Bilbo's erection stood as full attention and he found he was having quiet a hard time catching his breath.

Throin's lips graced the places where the hobbit's pelvis met thigh, beard scratching and tickling across the more sensitive parts of him. Bilbo couldn't keep his own fingers from tangling in Thorin's thick mane again, not pushing, not even guiding, just grounding him, allowing him to enjoying the feel of the strands between his fingers. It had been to long since he had touch the great bear of a king that now lay before him. A shutter of delight rattled it's way up his spine, the moment Thorin's tongue lapped out across the crown, tasting him. The dwarf smiled at the response, hand sliding beneath to cup the hobbit's sack in one broad hand, taking the head of Bilbo's cock into his mouth.

The hobbit made a lewd sound, voice caught somewhere between a sigh and a keen. It was almost embarrassing. Almost. But that gold tongue working over the length of him made him forget, entirely, the very concept of propriety. He squirmed and groan, hips bucking just the slightest bit as Thorin took him deeper, one hand stroking along his thigh while the other fondled him with expert fingers. The hobbit was caught between the words of too much and not enough and he know idea which way he'd rather turn.

He was fairly sure he would die when Thorin pulled away suddenly, leaving the hobbit feeling flushed and over heated and throughly unsatisfied. He fixed the dwarf with a crinkled brow and a displeased stare, that earned him a deep chuckle in response.

“Patience Master Burglar,” he laughed, leaning in to press a kiss to Bilbo's lips, open mouthed and boarding on lewd, considering where he'd just been, “I'm just fetching something.”

He reached across the sheets to where the salve had been tossed, twisting the tin open with a smile. Bilbo settled back, pleased as a cat in cream and not half as nervous as he though the would be. Thorin was a king after all, and not at all like the hobbit's Bilbo had dallied with in his youth. But then again, they had suffered more loss and known more joy in their time together than Bilbo had in the whole of his life. It was the sort of thing that bound to souls, that manner of sharing, in a way that could not be explained to those who had never felt it. It pulled down fortresses, that kind of companionship, and the love it could built.

Thorin took his time, coating the vast fingers with the salve, before settling back between Bilbo's thighs.

“Talk to me,” he asked, pressing a kiss to Bilbo's knees, “Tell what you want and if you don't want something, tell me that too.”

The hobbit sniggered, brush the wild hanks of hair from Thorin's face.

“Since when have I ever hesitated to tell you wen something displeased me?”

Thorin shook his, lips brushing along the juncture of Bilbo's hip, tickling him in a most pleasant manner. Then they were back to their previous business and it was all Bilbo could do to keep himself breathing. Throin swallowed him down, deeper then before, as his fingers reached for the cleft of the hobbit's rear. There was a light, pleasing pressure as the dwarf tended him, spreading the salve about to ease the way. But he was utterly unprepared for the press of a finger into his body and he tensed, fingers fisting in Thorin's mane. He felt the dwarf stop in his work, on both fronts, though he did not pull away and Bilbo took a deep breath. It wasn't painful, simply surprising, the size of dwarf fingers compared to hobbits, now that they were being applied.

“I'm fine,” he sighed, “Please keep on, if you would.”

Thorin seemed happy to obey, sucking harder along Bilbo's length, pressing deeper all at once. The hobbit whined, unsure which sensation he'd rather chase. Thorin was surprisingly good at all this. Bilbo wasn't sure what he'd expected from the King under the Mountain, but an attentive lover was found all the same.

He was slow to work and careful, but not so much so that Bilbo complained; dwarf fingers were thicker, wider, rougher than hobbit ones. He worked a second finger in next to the first and Bilbo keened, his own fisting in Thorin's shaggy hair. His pleas were breathless and half garbled but Thorin seemed able to make sense of them, sucking hard on Bilbo's cock as the fingers worked deeper, crooking his fingers in just the right way that made Bilbo see fireworks that could put even Gandalf's to shame. A third finger joined the others and for a long moment Bilbo thought he would lose himself to the pleasure, he in Thorin's mouth and Thorin's fingers inside him. There was a dull hint of pain, just a flash, before his body grew accustomed to the fullness and he rolled his hips into the touch.

“Thorin,” he heaved, “You'll end me if you keep this up?”

The dwarf lifted his head with a sly grin.

“I would, if you wanted it like this.”

Bilbo fingered one disheveled braid, caught in wonderment for a moment. Thorin Oakenshield laying contentedly between his thighs, flushed and hard, evidence of their debauchery in the dark hair of his beard.

“Not now,” Bilbo sighed, reaching for his broad, hard-muscled shoulders and pulling him up for a kiss, “I want more of you.”

“As my burglar commands,” Thorin repleid, reaching for the salve again, “How do you want me?”

Bilbo reclined against the pillows again, palms drawing down the expanse of Thorin's chest.

“Like this, I think. I want to see you,” he confided, reaching for the salve.

He coated his own fingers, reaching down to stroke the dwarf's erection, hard and proud and needy between his great thighs. The larger groaned into their lazy kiss, hand tightening in Bilbo's mussed curls.

“I won't least long, I think, not with your clever hands,” he huffed as they parted and Bilbo chortled.

“Best make it count then.”

Thorin settled back on his heels, wrapping Bilbo's legs around his waist, while the hobbit's warms wrapped tight around his middle, slowly guiding himself in. There was a blunt pressure, and almost pain that made Bilbo curse. A hand stroked his hip as the moved together, slow and just short of gentle. Bilbo panted Thorin's name, felling the wide hips settle against his own after a moment. The dwarf, for his part, was panting as well, eyes screwed shut as if he were in pain. Bilbo ran a hand up his broard ribcage.

“Are you well,” he breathed and Thorin nodded curtly.

“Been too long,” he grunted, “Got to pace myself or I'll be useless to you in a moment.”

Bilbo nodded in understanding, kissing the dwarf's collar, rolling his hips just enough to take the edge off his own need. Thorin cursed him each time in Khudzul but Bilbo found he could not force himself to stop. He was far to gone to lie still.

The dwarf recovered in slow degrees, working up a steady, hard rhythm that left Bilbo panting, clutching, gasping. Thorin obeyed every command, clever, wicked grin on his face. He drew almost out, before pressing back in, hard and quick, with a sudden cant to his hips that made the hobbit shutter and cry out. Thorin would strike the place inside him that sparked those amazing frieworks, riding it hard and deep, until Bilbo found himself teetering on the edge, then the dwarf would pull back, roll his hips in those maddening shallow thrusts. Bilbo reached for himself then, the friction of his cock against Thorin's solid stomach not quite enough, before the dwarf stopped him, held his hands secure and drove deep again. It was Bilbo's turn to curse then.

Finally, _finally,_ the dwarf took mercy on him, catching his hand, pulling them down together to stoke Bilbo's aching shaft. It took only a few strokes before the hobbit was clutching him again, spine arching, hips bucking as Thorin rocked against him, worked his cock in his fist. He came, hard between their bellies. Thorin rode him through the pleasure, whispering hotly against his skin. And when he could breath again, he tightened his shaking thighs around the king. Thorin's hand fell away from his now softening sex, reached for his hips and held them in a relentless grip. He was chasing the end himself, thrusts hard and erratic. Bilbo whispered to him, how good the dwarf had felt inside, fingers circling the pert bud of each nippled, tracing the canyon muscle along hip and thigh, coxing him towards completion. He came with a growl, face buried in the curve of Bilbo's shoulder, hips snapping forward in one last, stuttering thrust, clutching at the hobbit so tightly Bilbo felt his ribs creak.

Bilbo stroked the long line of his spine after, listening to the sound of their heaving breath. They were silent for a long time, and Bilbo wondered if perhaps Thorin hadn't fallen asleep.

“Thank you,” he said, head resting against Bilbo's shoulder.

Bilbo smiled.

“For what?”

“Everything. Everything I am now, I owe to you. Without you I would still be a wandering prince, with no throne, no place to call my home.”

Bilbo sighed heavily, watching Thorin's face with a quiet sort of wonder.

“And what are you now?”

Thorin smiled, lifting up onto an elbow, nose to nose with the hobbit.

“I'm not quiet sure. Finding out will be a journey of it's own I suppose. But I could rather use a burglar, if you're up to the task.”

Bilbo turned the question over in his head.

“I might just be.”


End file.
